


Harry’s Canadian Yule Ball Date

by jdale



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Daily Prophet, Gen, Yule Ball (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:41:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29070468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdale/pseuds/jdale
Summary: Harry realizes the Yule Ball isn’t really all that important in the grand scheme of things.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Kudos: 6





	Harry’s Canadian Yule Ball Date

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something I wrote as a reminder that yes, it is okay to be single, despite whatever societal and/or family pressures you may under to date/marry/have kids.

“You know what, this is stupid,” Harry declared. “Would either of us really care whether we had a date or not if I weren’t a champion?”

“But you _are_ a champion, Harry!” Ron pointed out. “You’ve got to have a date! McGonagall said so!”

“I’ll just…pretend I had an arrangement with someone, and she backed out on me at the last minute,” Harry said.

Ron eyed him skeptically. “Speak for yourself, mate. _I’m_ going to keep looking.”

“You do that,” Harry told him.

* * *

“Champions over here, please!” McGonagall’s voice called.

Harry bobbed and weaved his way through the crowd to reach where McGonagall was standing. On seeing him arrive, she frowned.

“Where is your partner, Mister Potter?” she asked.

Harry shrugged noncommittally. “If I had to guess? Probably the loo.”

McGonagall nodded curtly.

Five minutes passed. Then ten. Finally, at fifteen minutes past the appointed start time, McGonagall looked at Harry with a sympathetic frown. “It would appear you’ve been stood up, Mister Potter.”

“It would indeed,” Harry replied, doing his best to feign annoyance at the situation.

“I’m going to lead the other three champions in,” McGonagall told him. “Wait out here for another ten minutes or so in case your partner finally decides to show up. If not…just come in and find a seat wherever you can, I suppose.”

Harry nodded. “Yes, Professor.”

As soon as McGonagall had led the others into the hall, Harry loosened the collar of his dress robes and began the hike back up to the common room. He’d been sent to bed without dinner enough at the Dursleys’ that doing it once at Hogwarts didn’t really bother him that much, and it was certainly preferable to the ridicule he knew he would face if he walked in solo.

No sooner had he reached the common room than Dobby appeared in front of him with a soft _pop_.

“The Great Master Harry Potter not be going to bed without eating,” Dobby said firmly. “Dobby be making the Great Master Harry Potter dinner.”

“Thanks, Dobby,” Harry said with a smile, “although maybe you could call me something a little less cumbersome than ‘the Great Master Harry Potter?’”

“But the Great Master Harry Potter _is_ great!” Dobby protested. “Dobby must be having everyone know how great the Great Master Harry Potter is!”

Dobby _popped_ away before Harry could answer. After a moment, a plate of roast beef _popped_ into existence on one of the side tables.

Harry just sighed indulgently at the elf’s antics as he sat down to his meal.

* * *

It was the _Daily Prophet_ ’s lead story the next morning.

* * *

## Boy-Who-Lived Stood Up at Yule Ball

**By Rita Skeeter**  
THE DAILY PROPHET

Yesterday was a sad day for Wizarding Britain, dear readers. Our very own Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter himself, was all set for a wonderful night at the Yule Ball being held at Hogwarts in honour of the Triwizard Tournament. He had an immaculately tailored set of dress robes and a beautiful young lady to dance the night away with.

Then that young lady chose not to attend without even the common courtesy of informing Mister Potter in advance, leaving our young hero to slink back to Gryffindor Tower in disgrace, too distraught to even give a statement.

One question burned bright in this reporter’s mind, as I’m sure it does in yours as you read this: what vile young witch would do such a despicable thing? My investigations have yet to turn up her identity, but never fear, dear readers: your intrepid reporter will stop at nothing to expose the strumpet who hung our young hero out to dry last night.

* * *

“Good grief,” Harry muttered on reading the article. “Have you people nothing better to do than speculate about my love life?”

“Honestly, how that woman can call herself a reporter is beyond me,” Hermione agreed. With a conspiratorial grin, she continued, “I would, however, like to give the girl a piece of my mind, if you’d care to point me in the right direction.”

“The girl doesn’t exist, Hermione,” Harry told her. “I got to wondering why I was getting myself in such a state over this when it’s really not that important and I really don’t have much interest in girls at this point, anyway.”

“What?” Hermione asked in confusion. “But—what about Cho?”

Harry shrugged. “What about her? I mean, sure, she’s nice to look at, but…if you haven’t noticed, I’m kind of busy trying not to die here.”

“Speaking of which,” Hermione said, subtly shifting into ‘business mode,’ “I overheard Cedric and Cho talking last night. I think I may have an idea about that egg, but I need to check something in the library to be sure. I’ll get back to you at dinner.”

Harry nodded silently, tossing away the _Prophet_ and returning his attention to his breakfast.


End file.
